William Shakespeare's Cousin Lucentio's Wedding
by tea berry blue
Summary: William Shakespeare's first play?


William Shakespeare's Cousin Lucentio's Wedding  
  
CAST: (In Order of Appearance) Will Shakespeare, age 13. Wil Shakespeare, age 13.  
  
The Players: EVERYMAN, a Moor. THE WIFE, a Lady THE DUKE, a Duke THE OFFICER, an Officer THE VILLAIN, a Demon of Envy VARIOUS OTHER PLAYERS  
  
Anne Hathaway, a young lady. Mary Shakespeare, aka Mum. Various other villagers.  
  
DRAMATIS PERSONAE (of "Cousin Lucentio's Wedding"):  
  
TIBERIO, Duke of Verona, in love with Livia. JOHN NAPS, his servant. PETER TURF, his servant. BELLARIO, His Uncle, a Judge of High Repute.  
  
LUCENTIO, A Young Nobleman. LIVIA, his sister, later discovered not to be, in love with Tiberio, Disguised as LUCIO, attending on Lucentio. HENRY PIMPERNEL, his servant.  
  
CAPULET, A Lord of Verona LADY CAPULET, His Wife ROSALINE, His Daughter, Betrothed to Lucentio, also Sister to Lucentio URSULA, her nurse. SUSAN GRINDSTONE, her maid. NELL, her maid.  
  
PLACENTIO, A Mysterious Nobleman.  
  
FRIAR PATRICK, A Friar  
  
Scene: Stratford-on-Avon, England, 1667. A marketplace of sorts. A crowd has gathered in a circle about a group of players. EVERYMAN, in blackface, strangles THE WIFE, a very obviously male actor dressed as a lady. The audience boos and hisses as appropriate. WILL, a thirteen-year-old, short, skinny, redhaired boy, sits on WIL's shoulders. WIL, also thirteen, appears to be a boy, with blond hair tucked into a cap. She is a bit taller than WILL. The play, obviously a version of Othello that predates Shakespeare's own, continues in the background as the scene progresses.  
  
THE WIFE: Oh! Oh no!  
  
EVERYMAN: I'll have your damned head for this, whore!  
  
THE WIFE: No!  
  
AUDIENCE: Boo! Hiss!  
  
WILL: That's right, send that damned whore straight to hell! Dirty wench!  
  
WIL: Shut up, Will, you're going to get us noticed. What do you think you're doing? You're supposed to be cheering the forces of good.  
  
WILL: It's an "Everyman" play, isn't it, and that blackamoor is supposed to be Everyman, isn't he? Well, if he's the leading man, I'm all for him. Kill the wench!  
  
THE WIFE: Oh! Oh no!  
  
WILL: She makes a frightful lady, anyhow. You can see her chin-stubble through her makeup. It can't be believed.  
  
WIL(Noticing ANNE HATHAWAY, a pretty young lady of about twenty): Speaking of frightful ladies.  
  
WILL: Anne Hathaway. She mustn't see us. Lay low, my love. I am invisible.  
  
(EVERYMAN "kills" the wife. ANNE sees them and approaches)  
  
WIL: Apparently not invisible enough. All is lost, M'lord. We are taken.  
  
(EVERYMAN sobs in the background)  
  
ANNE: Will Shakespeare.  
  
WILL: Miss Hathaway. (WILL makes a sweeping and exaggerated bow. WIL curtseys.)  
  
WIL: Ahem, and company.  
  
ANNE: Does your Mum know you're here?  
  
WILL: Mine doesn't. Does yours?  
  
ANNE: Twit.  
  
WILL: I regret to say, my Lady, my goodly Mum has not the pleasure of knowledge as to the whereabouts of myself, her loyal and prodigal son, and my, um, apprentice.  
  
ANNE: Apprentice? Are you teaching others to swear at ladies now as well?  
  
WILL: Swear? I, Swear?! Naught but to swear my heart to you, my Lady- love! Ah, else I be forsworn! (THE OFFICER, THE VILLAIN, and THE DUKE enter the play.)  
  
WIL: Ah, Will, If thou'rt my love, I should be fallen upon the floor as a ring from off mine finger.  
  
(EVERYMAN collapses.)  
  
WILL: Oh, she's about to swoon any moment now. Then we'll prance away and my Mum will never hear of this.  
  
ANNE: I am not about to swoon, you little pigheaded brat. I am directly off to your mother's to tell her that you've been watching plays again.  
  
WILL: Ah, but the plays are art, and what is art if not life? What is life, if not art?  
  
ANNE: Mouth rot.  
  
(EVERYMAN gets up and stabs THE VILLAIN)  
  
Exit ANNE.  
  
WIL: I am loath to disappoint you, Cousin, but I'll have to side with the wench on this one. The play is a Christian dressed as a Moor who killed a man dressed as a woman. Where I'm from, if a sane man dressed either as a Moor or as a woman, he'd spend the night in the stocks and his wife would put him from her bed for a week.  
  
MARY: William Shakespeare!  
  
Enter MARY SHAKESPEARE, Will's Mother, with ANNE in tow. (THE VILLAIN falls to his knees, confesses, and dies)  
  
WILL: (falling to his knees) Mum! Good Mother! I did fear I should not see you again! They have held me here, these villains, in chains, in shackles of the mind, forcing me through their intrigue to sit these hours in the company of players!  
  
WIL: It's true, Auntie, I asked him if we could come.  
  
MARY: Will, why do you constantly insist on this disobedience?  
  
WILL: But Mum, it's a morality play. Morality. It teaches morals, of which I am in apparent sore need, as I keep disobeying you in coming to these plays.  
  
MARY: To miss Mass for a play is hardly moral, my boy. You're practically too old for punishment; what do you suggest I do?  
  
(EVERYMAN stabs himself. PLAYERS carry off the bodies.)  
  
WILL: This play was punishment in itself. My muse has led me to see it so. The acting was poorly, the writing misshapen, and the plot sadly contrived. I see it as a punishment well-deserved. Let me take my punishment.  
  
MARY: Well, in your absence at Mass- and you were missed, son, by all, the good Vicar tells me you have not been up to date in your Chronicles.  
  
WILL: I am very much up to date. Richard the Third had a hump on his back and killed half the Lancasters and put his nephews in a box under the staircase that was built by Julius Caesar. And all because Henry the Sixth, in infant bands, was crowned king of both England and France.  
  
MARY: You should have read Henry the Eighth by now. You're two behind.  
  
WIL: God save the Queen.  
  
(THE PLAYERS all bow)  
  
MARY: You are to march home and get to your books immediately, lad.  
  
WILL: Aye, Mum.  
  
WIL: I suppose I'll have to read that sot as well. The torture of an educated mind! Why read, when we could be writing? Why look back upon kings when we could be turning kings from peasants?! Ah, the sorrows of the students of history, who could be history's makers!  
  
WILL: Do you suppose my Mum'll fall for it?  
  
WIL: I don't suppose so.  
  
(MARY takes WILL by the hand.)  
  
MARY: And I thank you, Miss, for returning my wayward one to me.  
  
ANNE: Not at all. My father will be by later to speak to John about the land.  
  
WIL: (whispering) What land?  
  
WILL: (whispering) My father's lost all his money. I'm not supposed to know about it but we've got to sell something.  
  
(THE PLAYERS come around with hats and various other "collection" implements. MARY leads WILL home, WIL follows.)  
  
WIL: I don't' suppose you could sell a play.  
  
WILL: Sell a play, what?  
  
WIL: Thus killing two badgers with one pike. That's a metaphor for killing two birds with one stone. The players must be bloody rich! They play a few hours, and pass their hats, and folks pile the chinks in! So you could sell them a play they haven't got yet, and you wouldn't have to be poor. And then your mum would have to let you go to plays, wouldn't she?  
  
WILL: I don't see why.  
  
WIL: If it's your own play, you have to be sure they're doing right by your art! Be sure they're not letting shaggy-legged men take on the women's roles, nor black men's faces so they look like new boots. Keeping true to your vision!  
  
WILL: I have no vision. I just want to see the clowns. I never get to. We got there late and then Mum made us leave before we got to see them proper at the end. Oh! That's what we'll have to do!  
  
WIL: What?  
  
WILL: Put the clowns in the middle! It makes all the sense in the world. Then poor stragglers like us who have to run from church won't miss them.  
  
WIL: What did I tell you?! You're a natural artist! Brilliant from the start! We'll have an epic written in no time, a grand sweeping affair with swordfights and kings and knights and dukes and intrigue and murder.  
  
WILL: And rhymes?  
  
WIL: Rhymes?  
  
WILL: Call forth imaginings and choose the spot, Where we will for these hours pass the time. Here in fair Verona will hold our plot. Our plot, right here, should like to pass the time.  
  
WIL: Rhyming is all well, but you can't have "pass the time" rhyme with "pass the time." If by some chance you find your eyes to heave. By tears and sighs we hope you'll not be bored. For, if you are, our efforts are bereaved. And we shall have to leave by our accord.  
  
WILL: This is the prologue, so then we shall log The comings, doings, stories you shall see. A comedy to hold you all agog And if you laugh then it will rightly be.  
  
WIL: Just now in Verona there is a man, A lord, his name shall be Lucentio, He's got himself to wed by wicked plan,  
  
WILL: The likes of which this author does not know. So here in these few hours you shall see Love wedded, bartered, borrowed, and forlorn. The wedding shall be just in time for tea, So please to listen, do not show us scorn.  
  
Enter LUCENTIO, LUCIO, and HENRY PIMPERNEL LUCENTIO: If music be the food of love, let break All bowstrings in this monumental meal. Let children kill the songbirds with picked bones, Snuff out this fright'ning din and let us heal! What wit is this that causes love to eat Away at hearts that are, at best, too lean? I would I could play the romantic's part, But in this song my prospects fall quite mean. If I am not the host in mine own house, And others may dish out the choicest parts, Let demons feast quite full upon my soul, And sparrows peck away at our poor hearts!  
  
LUCIO: Ay, my lord, I would I could but help; Forgive me if you think I should not know, Could there, perhaps, be some lady- or such- To whom you think those choicest bits should go?  
  
LUCENTIO: Alas, young Lucio, but there is not. No wench have I beheld with this fine eye, Whose charming looks could make my winter hot, Whose loveliness could make my wellspring dry.  
  
LUCIO: No lady's lovely looks do pierce your heart, For I say, if they did or had or could, This Rosaline you'd have is not poor fare, That feast would bait you from your wintry wood.  
  
LUCENTIO: But Rosaline, and every other lass Is lacking in some monumental wit. Their quality of mind is not half there. It's all their sex; I am quite sure of it.  
  
LUCIO: But there must be, somewhere, I think, a wench, With mind as fast and sharp as deadly knives. An' if it be, I would she had a maid, And then the two of us would both have wives!  
  
LUCENTIO: Alas, I would, but I have searched the land, And every wench is dull and pale as ice.  
  
LUCIO: Ah, hast thou searched? I bid thee, search again. And if thou fail'st, I think thou must search thrice.  
  
PIMPERNEL: Good Lord, I think that nothing is amiss, She is the fairest maid in all the land. For what she lacks in brains, she'll have in this: You'll have her bounty when you have her hand.  
  
LUCENTIO: But what is "have", that have again will show? She may be fair, but "fair" is put to "white." Last winter we had fair amounts of snow, Was "fair," was "had," but was not worth the sight. And thus, a lovely girl will soon decay, From white to brackish wet and to sod-black. The white may wet one's lips but I daresay, One book with wit of gold is worth the stack.  
  
PIMPERNEL: And yours, my lord, the stack is to peruse!  
  
LUCIO: But you say you would wed and have it done? If you should turn a page, and find a gem, You'd burn your library and keep the one?  
  
LUCENTIO: If I could find in all the world a "gem," Whose wit and mirth, dear boy, was half worth thine, Lucentio would be a married man, And not to look, but listen would be mine!  
  
LUCIO: So, even if her face were full and fat, Her hair all full of snarls, stink and rot, I may be page, but you are guard, and off- My friend, my lord, do not yourself be caught.  
  
LUCENTIO: I see your worry. So, she should be fair- But fairer more by wit and words than looks I would not mind a girl with boyish grace, If she could counter us and speak of books. But though Rosaline is a polished gem, She's not much wiser than an almanac. If there is surface but no substance there, The page will go to dust, the gem will crack.  
  
LUCIO: So Rosaline is dull and fairest yet, That we've agreed. She's neither wit nor skill. But I'll convince you there's wenches who have, If I deliver, shall you pay the bill?  
  
LUCENTIO: Now, Lucio, I think there is no need. We both know this is play and still in vain.  
  
LUCIO: Ah, but you will not let me do the deed? I'd have success, but I shall not complain. I do beseech thee, Lord, if there is cause, For this regret, please put it from your mind, For when you're sad, we speak in poetry, And I fear I am running out of rhymes.  
  
LUCENTIO: Ah, my apologies, Sweet Lucio It seems as if something always goes wrong. I must be off to see more wedding plans, I fear our guest list now is far too long.  
  
Exit LUCENTIO.  
  
LUCIO: That man will not see marriage, by my guess.  
  
PIMPERNEL: You have not known him long, lest you forget I have been in this house ten long years. He's borrowed, and the man must pay his debt.  
  
LUCIO: But Rosaline is duller than a board! And he will live in misery I fear. To Lucentio, none is more abhorred, I've not been here long, true, but he is dear. He is my master, so much have I sworn; I owe to him a most tremendous debt. To make a page of one so lowly born, I wish that I could do for him, and yet- It seems that he must marry Rosaline-  
  
PIMPERNEL: She is his father's dearest friend's one child. They were betrothed when she was not yet one, And, at that age, the two were most beguiled.  
  
LUCIO: Beguiled of an infant, still tight-bound? Beguiled of her gurgling, or her cries? Beguiled of her yellow baby's down? Methinks that engagement was less than wise! For as Lucentio does not love her; In fact, I'm sure he thinks of her far worse, I wonder if she loves him quite as much, Or in this circumstance, take the reverse. But as I vow I would find him a girl Whose inner wit would match her outer face, Immediately I ought to start my task- There are so few I must speed on apace.  
  
Exit LUCIO. Enter PETER TURF and JOHN NAPS.  
  
TURF: Say there, Henry Pimpernel!  
  
PIMPERNEL: My friends, my friends. Good Peter Turf, Good John Naps. Very good! Very good indeed! I have been with my master Lucentio these three hours, and though he is a good man, he speaks a lofty lip which cannot half be understood by normal folk. What news of your master, the Duke? NAPS: There is to be a masque at his house this very night.  
  
PIMPERNEL: What, with this late notice? Or is there some rift between these friends our masters? If it be so, though grieve I shall, it will not be for tonight- I'll come and drink his wine.  
  
NAPS: No, no, we were dispatched toward the purpose of inviting yon young lord. It is a very hastily-made invitation to be sure, the party is made in great haste. Methinks our Duke makes merriment-  
  
TURF: He means to say, there is a tasty wench, and Tiberio, his thoughts being no less than our own, plans to undress her by the dressing-up.  
  
NAPS: And it being a masque, he will not be able to tell if he's got the right one.  
  
TURF: That's the brilliance of it, says I. If he can't gut the right one, how will she know it is he, or he she? Being refused, he can find her again behind any sort of mask he chooses.  
  
NAPS: Or behind any wall, or bush, or door, or large wine-barrel.  
  
PIMPERNEL: Nay, not the wine barrel. That shall be my station.  
  
TURF: Your station shall be what he tells you, for his is above yours.  
  
NAPS: And above his lady's.  
  
TURF: Or as I gather, as 'twill be after this ball.  
  
PIMPERNEL: I should think the duke could have his choice of women, him being what he is, and they being, as you say, below him-  
  
NAPS: Perhaps they are too much below him, and this wench is not pleased.  
  
TURF: As are the others.  
  
NAPS: Aye, or as much as the others.  
  
PIMPERNEL: He'd not please me, if I were a lady.  
  
TURF: He does, an' you are a man?  
  
PIMPERNEL: We'll ask your girls, what they think of our Duke. I say too fair of face, too girlish in demeanor. He hasn't got a beard.  
  
NAPS: Neither have you.  
  
PIMPERNEL: But I've a razor. And when I am old, I'll grow my gray whiskers down to my belly.  
  
TURF: And out your ears.  
  
EnterBELLARIO.  
  
PIMPERNEL: As does he!  
  
BELLARIO: I am toward the house of my good nephew. Here to bring invaluable wit and mirth. My gaity has not shrunk with my age My sprits have only increased since birth.  
  
PIMPERNEL: I should hope he is the uncle of my lord Lucentio. The young master is so troubled these days with his impending wedding.  
  
NAPS: I should hope not, then, if that were my last chance for joy in this world. I should find more amusement in a noose and a good wooden beam.  
  
TURF: I should find a great deal of amusement in that old sot. Come, friends. What, old man? Who is your nephew?  
  
BELLARIO: My nephew is the duke of your city. He is know widely as Tiberio. Please point me on, for I am nearly blind, And as you are is subject, you might know?  
  
TURF: Aye, indeed, Tiberio, the Duke Tiberio. Good Duke! Our Righteous Duke! Alas I have only seen him from afar.  
  
NAPS: Alas? Alas? But what could you be to him but a lowly servant?  
  
TURF: Ah, but to serve my Lord the Duke would be as to serve my city! Verona Fair!  
  
NAPS: But to serve the Duke would be to serve your own demise. Have you heard the tales of those who labor in his household? I hear that if they are sluggardly or slothful, he has their toes removed one by one with a small, dull knife!  
  
TURF: Jesu Maria!  
  
PIMPERNEL: Aye, 'tis true, I, Doddy Dogspotter, have been in the service of the Duke for sixteen years. I have lost a toe each year, sixteen of my toes have been torn from my feet. Oh the anguish!  
  
NAPS: And what punishments he doles out to guests who do not please him- I loath to say it.nay, I'll not tell this poor man. You'll be on your way, to your nephew the Duke's.  
  
PIMPERNEL: The anguish!  
  
NAPS: Doddy, good Doddy Dogsplatter, will you show our good Uncle his way?  
  
PIMPERNEL: Aye, I shall bring him to his doom, I mean, room. But mind you, Uncle, my feet, they are quite tender what with losing twenty toes. I may have to take a rest now and then. It is a long way up the stairs. The anguish!  
  
TURF: Jesu Maria!  
  
Exit TURF and NAPS.  
  
BELLARIO: Is my nephew the Duke truly so cruel, To hack and hack again at your poor feet? If this is his treatment of all his men, I'll speak on your behalf, I shall entreat-  
  
PIMPERNEL: Ay, no Good Uncle, there's no need. I've only lost four this week. I do not think they are of much use anyway, I am greatly gratified to the Duke, I am, for his removing those useless little things. My feet are much better and have quite more room in their shoes, what with my thirteen toes all gone. Here, we'd best be off, I should not want you to be late. I should not want him to start chopping at my fingers. I do like my fingers, that I do. Doddy Dogspitter, he's got a use for his fingers! Exuent.  
  
Enter TIBERIO.  
  
TIBERIO: And still, my faithful men have not returned! The hour's past two, my feast is met at nine. I fear that my guests will not be fair warned- Some may arrive after we've drained the wine. And though here I am Duke and mighty Lord, I fear that there are guests who shan't be pleased. If visit by one Livia could afford- To see her by should set my mind at ease. She is a pretty thing, of sprightly wit, Whom I have glanced in passing many times. I've writ to her, a sonnet and a song, But as it seems, she's no use for my rhymes. I do not think she's wed- or is my wish- For her to marry else should be my shame. I've told her so in many words, fine-penned. Alas, I think I might have signed my name. "Sweet Livia, as my love would you, love, go? As Livia's love would I love to go by. And thus love's loving love would loving show- For love I can, but neither speak nor sigh. Tell me, love, if sense of this you make, For loving, love, my love has lost all sense. My common sense, now love does overtake. Not common since, but only loving hence. And henceforth, from this day, If you'll love me, My love for you shall be in strictest sense, With rosy scents we two shall wedded be, Since love uncommon, common in that sense."  
  
Enter LUCIO  
  
If she shall love me not, here is the day. I shall know by this night if day is here. If she be not, then night is my dismay, But day shall come from night should she appear.  
  
LUCIO: Ay, me.  
  
TIBERIO: But what is this? Behold the boy! And what has prompted those so heavy sighs? What pain has crossed the pinkness of these cheeks? What sorrow take the mirth from boyish eyes?  
  
LUCIO: I am merely a page, I've got no turn But I should turn my master from his fate! Lucentio's in dread of Rosaline, And Rosaline does seem a dreadful mate! I do not wish at all fortune for me, I could not care if I should live or die, But as a page to master I should be, I should not turn to see my master cry!  
  
TIBERIO: 'Tis right to feel so full for thine own lord.  
  
LUCIO: But fuller would I feel were he fulfilled!  
  
TIBERIO: I've not seen such faith yet, not by my sword.  
  
WILL: I can't think of a rhyme for fulfilled, can you?  
  
WIL: Milled, Grilled, Billed, Tilled, Killed, Shilled, Swilled.  
  
WILL: Shilled isn't a word.  
  
WIL: Neither are half the words you're using properly grammatically correct, I say, but as long as you insist they have to rhyme I guess they must do.  
  
WILL: Well, it is poetry. Hasn't it got to rhyme?  
  
WIL: I think it does not!  
  
WILL: If it doesn't rhyme it sounds common.  
  
WIL: If it rhymes it sounds outright absurd! I don't know about you but I've never rhymed when I've spoke.  
  
WILL: And you're common! All your talk about being a lady-  
  
WIL: I suppose you'll be a gentleman? A gentleman and a playwright, I suppose, gallavanting grandly about the upright and reputable theatres of London?  
  
WILL: Perhaps. All I was going to say is that this scene here is going nowhere at all!  
  
WIL: It's a plot device, fool. The audience has to know what is going to happen. It's called dramatic irony.  
  
WILL: Well, what is going to happen?  
  
WIL: Numbskull! This is the scene where Livia unmasks herself to us. Without it the rest of the play shan't be funny at all. You are trying to write a comedy, aren't you?  
  
WILL: Perhaps I want them to all die tragically in an awful melee.  
  
WIL: That's been done. We saw that last week in that Denmark play. I thought it was a bit shoddy myself; the writer tried to kill as many people as he could with absolutely no reason. He even killed off the clowns.  
  
WILL: If I'd written it I could've killed twice as many and good too! What that play needed was a bloodier end, all out.  
  
WIL: Well, this one doesn't. It's a comedy. It says so in the title. "Cousin Lucentio's Wedding." When there's a wedding, it's a comedy.  
  
WILL: Not for any old bat who has to marry Rosaline.  
  
WIL: Well, we haven't even seen Rosaline yet. Maybe if this is about how rippingly awful she is, we could see the girl before the play's half done.  
  
WILL: That's exactly what I was planning to do next!  
  
WIL: Fine! Go to it, then.  
  
EnterLADY CAPULET, URSULA, NELL, and SUSAN GRINDSTONE.  
  
LADY: Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me.  
  
URSULA: No less than first, but less in blessings be.  
  
NELL: She'll come but fourth, beside a better three.  
  
SUSAN: Oh Rosaline! Your Mum should wish to see!  
  
Enter ROSALINE  
  
ROSALINE: You needn't call so loud, I have two ears. And though mine may be delicate and sweet. They hear quite well as yours, and likely more. My body trembles, such noise is not meet. If I should have to listen to your din, It may take all the curl from out my hair, It would leave wrinkles to my lovely skin, I can't afford to think myself less fair!  
  
NELL: More fair she'd be with tight fists to her eyes.  
  
SUSAN: With broken skin perhaps she'd think more clear.  
  
LADY: I have things to discuss with you, my Sweet, Please, Nurse, Susan, and Nell, do disappear. Ah! Nurse, good Ursula, come back again,  
  
Exit NELL andSUSAN.  
  
URSULA: I know her child better than herself. When sick with smallpox how my Lady fled! Twas I who nursed Rosaline back to health. Am I who knows the birthdate and the year, As well the day she lost her maidenhead. As well as other things one should not hear, Voices of men and squeakings of her bed. To speak of marriage and tell me to go! My lady cannot think she knows her child! And, knowing more of those that know her so, I know tis long since she's gone undefiled.  
  
ROSALINE: Dear Nurse, such things my mother shall not hear. 'Tis none of hers, my father owns the bed. And as it is my father could not care, I'll have my men no matter if I'm wed.  
  
URSULA: 'Twas bliss to have that infant in my arm. That infant grew much rounder, though, and how! It seems I'll live to see her rounder still, No matter if she take a wedding vow.  
  
ROSALINE: My mother sweet, my duty I have known, To grow to womanhood and then be wed, Alas, Lucentio is dull as stone. My grave is like to be my wedding bed! If I could marry yet a pretty lad, One whose skin was fair and eyes were blue, I would have been married two years since.  
  
URSULA: Blue eyes? I do not need to venture who.  
  
ROSALINE: Lucentio, betrothed to be my Lord, Cares naught for mine or even his own looks. He whiles the day in converse with his page; The boy and he discuss nothing but books. And books are made of paper and quite dull, And full of little marks I cannot read. If I should talk that long I'd soon go hoarse.  
  
URSULA: She wishes to mount a more manly steed.  
  
LADY: He's worth a sum, and I think worthy, too.  
  
URSULA: As well the only man you've not yet had.  
  
ROSALINE: Nurse, bite your tongue, your counsel's quite untrue.  
  
URSULA: Ah, nor his page, aye, sure, nor his dead dad.  
  
LADY: Tonight Tiberio shall hold a masque. It is your duty there to entertain, Lucentio is his beloved guest, I think, after tonight, you'll not complain. Myself was wedded nearly half your age.  
  
URSULA: And mother, too, before the age of ten.  
  
LADY: I think it should be a most welcome change.  
  
URSULA: No change she'll find in company of men.  
  
LADY: Your father sorely wants you should be wed, And to his dear deceased friend's one son. And son he is, a sun to whom you'll wake.  
  
URSULA: And sooner still, your wish tonight is done.  
  
ROSALINE: Mother, I think I will not share your zeal.  
  
LADY: He is quite good, I knew his parents well.  
  
ROSALINE: I warn, after tonight, I'll still appeal.  
  
LADY: I think you'll change this mood; you cannot tell.  
  
Exuent. Enter BELLARIO, HENRY PIMPERNEL, PETER TURF, and JOHN NAPS.  
  
BELLARIO: I am remembered of a feast like this. Was at the house of Cousin Capulet. And on that night, his daughter went amiss. And hence she died; they've heard not from her yet. But at that feast, they had delicious tarts To celebrate her coming marriage banns. Were full of jam and in the shape of hearts, The juice from those would not wash from my hands.  
  
NAPS: We'll find you fitting vittles here, and mayhap a glass of wine or ten?  
  
BELLARIO: Nay, but I think I trust you not, my boy. For are you not the same man who misled My kind guide to the house of his employ? I wist his beatings fall upon your head!  
  
PIMPERNEL: Nay, old man, Good Doddy Dogsquatter that I am, I do not wish my pain on any less man! Oh the anguish! I've lost enough toes to fill a fortnight, my feet will fit old boots the better!  
  
BELLARIO: But you, good sir, have suffered long and hard, And I fear that you still may suffer yet. To make repairs to your poor feet, Ill starr'd, I'll bring a poultice tart from Capulet.  
  
TURF: Capulet. Capulet is Rosaline's name!  
  
NAPS: Nay, how would you know?  
  
TURF: I know the family name if I know her.  
  
NAPS: And know her better than any man here?  
  
TURF: Nay, I think not, she is well known in this city, quite fair in her fairness, she doles it out well.  
  
PIMPERNEL: I should say, unfair! Being in the house of her soon-made huband, she shines her fairness not on that house.  
  
NAPS: Ah, but she shines! She is the sun!  
  
TURF: We'll hope she is the sun and not the moon, to wax.  
  
NAPS: Not to wax afore her honeymoon!  
  
Enter LUCIO.  
  
TURF: Ah, but once she loses her little hat-  
  
NAPS: She's lost her little hat a good many times before, methinks it shall be lost and lost again.  
  
LUCIO: What, lost? What little love lost is this here? Methink they speak on my lord's bride to be. And should she lose his love where love's not near, She's lost a love which never love should see. Though to see how his love might soon be found, I shall disguise myself as a young maid. To find a maid who, made when undisguised, Has love and wit combined as her fair trade. I know things of the way ladies' minds go, As of the other sex, I've got a twin. A lady will speak freely with a lass So, thus, I'll pray, and if she's game, I win.  
  
NAPS: Who is this lady, from some foreign land I say! She is from India, from Asia, nay, from Sicily!  
  
TURF: She is a pearl upon a rich man's vest, too rich for you.  
  
NAPS: Aye, I look and my stomach has already turned. She is a lovely bird! A dove, a swan, a cackling pigeon!  
  
TURF: A bird! What, Pimpernel, Good Harry, ask the sweet lady to the dance.  
  
PIMPERNEL: Nay, I am not for her.  
  
NAPS: She'll not know 'tis you.  
  
PIMPERNEL: Nay, I cannot.  
  
BELLARIO: It is those wounds upon his precious feet!  
  
PIMPERNEL: Aye, aye, my toes bleed, so I cannot dance. I'll have good wine, my boys, and have a seat.  
  
Enter TIBERIO, LORD CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, ROSALINE, LUCENTIO, and MASQUERS.  
  
BELLARIO: If those do not heal proper, take a lance.  
  
PIMPERNEL: Aye, I shall good Uncle, I will do that good Uncle. Lance the wounds, right Good Uncle. Doddy Dogstutter was ever a master with lance in hand!  
  
TIBERIO: I thank you all for coming to my feast. I am sorry that notice was not fair. I am certain this eve is in sore need. For certain of us need not think of care. And so I hope you'll all enjoy the dance, We'll play till midnight, nay, at least till dawn. So now I leave you to festivity. Musicians, fiddles, do strike up a song!  
  
ROSALINE (to LUCENTIO): I was with Hercules and Cadmus once. Hercules was brutish and uneven. So Cadmus was the better man by far, I doubt if there is one to match the Theban.  
  
LUCENTIO (to TIBERIO): I think that I may near lose both my ears. The way this ninny speaks of unchaste acts. I'd sooner be unjustly put to death, Her talking is not worth its fearful tax.  
  
TIBERIO: You think you are the one with fears to fall? I have not seen my lady-love pass by. If you should lose an ear tonight my friend, Without her looks, I'll gladly give an eye.  
  
LUCENTIO: An eye, and I ,and she, who might she be?  
  
TIBERIO: If she appear, she's mine.  
  
LUCENTIO: Aye, yours, I know.  
  
TIBERIO: Her name is Livia, and what a love! This love would live so lives Tiberio. Her two hand held so daintily, and thus- Her hair like moonlight shone upon the stream And though her face be hid by paper mask, That lady there! She walks a step I've seen.  
  
LUCENTIO: She? That step, I see, like some fair duck? So Livia is hidden by that mask?  
  
TIBERIO: There seems some sure familiarity, I want it should be her, but feint to ask. I'll go- and should it be my darling love- Her form like Venus- Livia indeed- I'll swear to her with all the Saints I know, Her eyes fair blessing should be my heart's creed.  
  
ROSALINE: His head is sure to fall from his fair neck, I've seen it done a million times o'er better. She'd best be to dismiss him as a fool, A man who's lost his tongue in hopes to bed her.  
  
TIBERIO: (to LUCIO) My voice should hide itself within my throat, Like a small creature, hunted, fearing death, My tongue does know the words I wish to speak, But words fall short, for you they find no breath.  
  
LUCIO: Speak, good sir, let your words show no fear.  
  
LUCENTIO: Ay, that's the boy, he'll play a clever trick.  
  
TIBERIO: Your lips do give my lungs the needed air, Your ears, 'pon hearing, cause my heart to tick.  
  
LUCIO: Do you know to whom you speak, and what? TIBERIO: I know your voice, good maid, I am no fool.  
  
LUCIO: You'd kiss me though I should remain in mask?  
  
(TIBERIO kissesLUCIO)  
  
TIBERIO: Ah, lady-love, your kiss is by the rule.  
  
ROSALINE: That kiss was not a kiss, lest kissed again.  
  
LUCENTIO: (To ROSALINE) You'll halt your tongue, you know not what you say.  
  
TIBERIO: I am your Duke, shall you rule me again?  
  
LUCIO: I should, but I abhor public display. And as I am your public, my good Duke, There is a further display to be made. Fair Livia, is absent, it might seem, Forgive me sir, I am a humble page. An' If you knew my motive, you'd excuse Me from the simple fact I did not tell, I dressed the woman's part for my dear Lord, You know him, sir, and know I love him well.  
  
TIBERIO: I know your plight, but care not for this game! Your change of face should cause me to lose mine!  
  
LUCIO: I know I should not justify my acts. In truth, though, Lord, your kissing is quite fine.  
  
TIBERIO: A mockery! A mockery you make! Lucentio, you'll send him from my sight! I kissed my love until she turned a page- From hence I'll kiss her not by candlelight.  
  
LUCIO: My eyes are better far, I see quite well, Perhaps I could seek your fair lady out? I'll send for her by flocks of wild birds! Do tell me first, though, is she small or stout? I promise, in minutes, nay, in less, If you should let me walk once through that door, You would see Lucio soon disappear, And from same Livia should waltz in before!  
  
LUCENTIO: You know, my friend, the boy meant only well. Sweet Lucio, as my page you shall serve. You'll wear my mask and list by Rosaline.  
  
LUCIO: Such penance is too harsh and undeserved!  
  
LUCENTIO: (To TIBERIO) The boy is gone, he'll trouble you no more.  
  
TIBERIO: Gone? Gone, I say, long gone as is my heart. My Livia has still not graced that door. Tis mine own weakness fell for boyish art.  
  
LUCENTIO: There are worse weaknesses a man could have.  
  
ROSALINE: (To LUCIO) And after that, was the Moroccan Prince.  
  
LUCENTIO: Woman, too, or even wife, I'd hazard.  
  
ROSALINE: A tryst three days, I've not heard from him since.  
  
LUCENTIO: She's heartless and as dumb as any wall! She only knows the day by her conquests. If questioned of some matter of import, Her faces turns pale, her sugar tongue arrests.  
  
TIBERIO: Arrest! Arrest my lungs, they should not breathe, If not to breathe in Livia's sweet perfume. Though out-of-doors, and, I am told, 'tis hot, The air is cold and rank as any tomb. Arrest, arrest my eyes, they should not see! If not to see the visage of my muse, The garden is alight, and well-refined, But tawdry, her face absent from its views! Arrest, arrest my heart, it should not beat, If not to beat Liv-love, Liv-love, and so, Though strong it is, and in condition rare, Should bleed to death, for she stands not below. Arrest, arrest my mouth, it should not speak! If not to speak my troth to my dear-heart. Though I may choose my words with utmost care, Without reply, they quickly lose their art.  
  
ROSALINE: And if you should arrest your mouth to speak, It's spoken, and far more that its fair piece.  
  
LUCENTIO: (To TIBERIO) I'll kill her yet, or else take my own life! Relieve her quick, or bring my sweet release!  
  
LUCIO: I tire of this game, there's many masks.  
  
ROSALINE: If tired, we'll away, good Lord, to bed?  
  
LUCIO: I have a duty here I've not yet filled, And you'll not put me up till rightly wed.  
  
ROSALINE: Tush! That's a first I've heard and never seen! My husband will not bend for my own pleasure?  
  
LUCIO: There's pleasure and I would that I should please, But yours, apportioned, still o'erruns the measure!  
  
ROSALINE: I never was a maid and wont to wed.  
  
LUCIO: I'll question not that. Ne'er were you a maid.  
  
ROSALINE: But after this night I am spited sure! My maidenhead's ne'er thus been betrayed! I not wed you nor any other man, And should I go a widow to my grave, I'll live a nun in saintly cloistered quarters, And never see a man refuse me! Knave!  
  
EXIT ROSALINE followed fast by LORD and LADY CAPULET.  
  
LUCENTIO: My page, again, you've far outdone your task.  
  
LUCIO: Punish me not again! Oh spite! Oh hell! I only tried my best to act your part.  
  
LUCENTIO: You misconstrue, nay Page, you do me well. But Rosaline, alas, could do me better. How have I got myself this wench to wed? She'll not be mine, I'll not know how to find her.  
  
LUCIO: You'll never need look further than your bed.  
  
TIBERIO: Tis sad, tis true, your wife's a harlot born.  
  
LUCENTIO: I'll not wed her; she has not got me yet!  
  
LUCIO: She has got herself with half the dukedom.  
  
LUCENTIO: Alas, there is that bond, lest I forget.  
  
TIBERIO: Ah, to be bound, 'tis like a world set free! I'd bind myself to my sweet Livia fair. My shackles would be wrought of her white hands! My ropes be woven from her lustrous hair!  
  
LUCIO: Ay, me.  
  
LUCENTIO: What, sigh?  
  
TIBERIO: I'll sigh again. Ay, me.  
  
LUCENTIO: Is my poor page in love as my poor friend?  
  
LUCIO: I sigh, my master, in regret for thee. I fear thou will go to a bitter end.  
  
LUCENTIO: Sigh not for me, I'm better of by far. For though my wife shall be the county's whore, At least I have not a love who'll refuse, Tiberio's fine heart should soon be sore.  
  
TIBERIO: It aches, it aches for one who'll not be seen, To whom I've written, but she shan't reply, She is more elusive than hunted prey, More fleeting than the moon crossing the sky. But yet more beautiful than summer sun! Tis agony! Tis agony, I weep.  
  
LUCENTIO: My friend, you're drunk and should be off to bed. Dear guests, It's time that all should get some sleep!  
  
Exuent ALL but save LUCIO.  
  
LUCIO: How can I sleep? I know what dreams will show. I am a coward and worse yet a fool. My form should stay though passing dreams should go. Alas, the Duke does kiss quite by the rule! But to explain? I am not what you see. Though I am an honest Page and loyal, A page is simply what I turned to be When I first found my feet on foreign soil. I am but poor, from farmer's stock, low-born, Though in defense my father's right and good. I had a twin, in infancy, was lost- Was dragged away by wolf to fearful wood. I still am slow to think my sweet twin dead, Though family has given him for gone, I ran away, has been some six months since, And I have searched my twin both far and long. I said my brother was not of my sex. And that is true, for I am not a lad. I cut my hair and took upon these clothes To aid in my quest, though it made me sad. I took up working for Lucentio, Who's treated me none but well and fair, But then I did meet his kind friend the Duke, And I did pine away for my poor hair. He'd seed me, though, and it seems he was struck, I did not know a thing, till overheard, He spoke me as his love, but 'twas too late, Romance 'tween Duke and Page is too absurd. If I should tell, I'd lose my good Lord's trust, And that, above all, is my greatest fear, But as I'm not conditioned out of lust, My chest heaves when Tiberio is near. Alas, for he is Duke, and I so low! I have not gold for dowry to my name. But I, to him, am like the sun on snow. In blindness he would deem me worth the shame. In blindness I would put aside my plight Run unfettered to my beloved's arms. But as I see I am a man by sight, I have no hope of airing girlish charms. In less duress, I should be nothing more. But more I am, and less- my thought's amiss. I've masked my face like Rosaline the whore. Alack the day friends laugh when lovers kiss!  
  
Exit.  
  
WILL: Our audience is supposed to believe that she's a lady who dressed as a man who dressed as a lady? I can't even say it!  
  
WIL: Well, as long as it's bound to be a man in the role, we might as well carry it on as far as we can, mightn't we?  
  
WILL: I can't think that far!  
  
WIL: I know that, ninny. It's obvious by those wretched rhymes.  
  
WILL: I like the rhymes. It's better than their names.  
  
WIL: I don't see a thing wrong with their names. I think they sound romantic.  
  
WILL: I think they sound all alike! Lucio, Lucentio, Tiberio. They all end in I-O. Folk won't be able to keep any of these characters straight. Why can't we have some good proper names like Henry or Edward ?  
  
WIL: They're Italian names. They have to have Italian names. They're in Italy.  
  
WILL: So why can't we have one of those boats?  
  
WIL: What boats?  
  
WILL: You know, the boats. On the canals. With the singers. It would be a perfect opportunity for more clowns.  
  
WIL: Gondolas. That's Venice. This is Verona. It would throw your entire rhyme scheme off to change it now.  
  
WILL: I don't care. Verona is hard to rhyme. We could always leave it the same and have lots and lots of clowns. Then people would know it was a joke, they'd think we were fooling about it. They'd say, "oh isn't that clever, they put the fools on a boat that is obviously from Venice, and this is in Verona, thereby signifying that these are fools."  
  
WIL: No they won't. They'll say, "Oh isn't that Will Shakespeare boy a dunce. He doesn't deserve any money for this play. He can't even do his geography lesson!" And they'll all turn their backs and you shan't have any backers at all and you'll be arrested as a vagrant and also for not going to Mass and then your Mum'll surely put that nitwit Holinshed forcibly upon you. Julius Caesar in the Tower of London, indeed! In Verona we have beheld a scene, Of lovers fooled, and fools new put to love. This foolish love, love's fooling does demean, And, loving fool, love's jests away doth shove. Lucentio it seems, is bound to wed. The prating ninny nymph named Rosaline. He's not to bear this fool, or he has said. He should not love a fool by fool's design.  
  
WILL: His loyal page, who goes by Lucio, Though Livia she is, and is a lass, Has taken up to find her Lord a love. Not fool'd by love, but fool by other class. For marry, he says he shall not marry, Unless a maid of incomp'rable wit. Livia, being witty, should be wary. If she's discovered, he'll have none of it. For Livia, being foolish in her turn, Does love the Duke, and make her love a fool. Tiberio swears for Liv his heart does burn, But fooled by her looks as this plot is cruel. This plot, in turn, is none but simple folly,  
  
WIL: And done up overwrought with fooling rhymes.  
  
WILL: Tis all to make our lovers melanch'ly.  
  
WIL: Love should make fools of plot in better times.  
  
WILL: But now concluding plot and love will see, The end a fool's to wed and please fools three.  
  
ENTER ROSALINE, SUSAN GRINDSTONE, and NELL.  
  
NELL: Oh, tell us, Lady, what your husband is to be?  
  
SUSAN: Is he very tall?  
  
NELL: I should like to wed a lord. Perhaps I shall meet one, being in your husband's service.  
  
ROSALINE: In his service? But, nay, he'd not take you! Methink the man's not right, or is quite ill. He hardly looked my head down to my skirt- And, unimpressed by me, did not sit still! A man who could look beauty in the eye And say again over, "I'll not have that," Must not be well to wed, or ill-possessed- He only loves his page, a stinking brat Of a boy, who does not pause to sigh But talks for hours, not to see an end- They have no pleasing ways to pass the time. Their sullen-ness is sure their only friend. But you, you wretched maid, perhaps they'd like For you're not graceful and your face is plain. You're awkward as a gangrenous fat hen, You're worthless as a bride bed gone unstained. My husband does lack qualities of men, The sort of which I thought could not be missed, And as you lack the some nice traits as well, I'd warrant he would take you by the wrist.  
  
Exit ROSALINE  
  
NELL: She may be a beauty outright, but she is plain!  
  
SUSAN: A child or two is bound to make her fat. She'll lose all looks and be coarser than my father's britches. And she would be the only one to know, besides my poor dead mum and me, I do the washing.  
  
NELL: She must be barren as her disposition is sour. I would not think a woman should lie down so much as she and not get up.  
  
SUSAN: I would not think a woman could speak so much as she and say nothing!  
  
NELL: Aye, and I'd shut her mouth. I know a way.  
  
SUSAN: And what might that way be?  
  
NELL: She is to wed, sure? She is to wed an upright man.  
  
SUSAN: Upright, for my lady would be a mixed blessing.  
  
NELL: The word, to her, does not describe one's reputation, I warrant.  
  
SUSAN: Right, and but "She is to wed," you say.  
  
NELL: And what if she were to love another man?  
  
SUSAN: 'Twould be no surprise. She's one for Monday, Tuesday, aye, and Thursday, and Friday. She does not even rest on Sunday.  
  
NELL: But love? She'll love not those men. What an' if she were to fall deeply and irretrievably, complacently in love? There is a gentleman, I tell thee, a gentleman fair, who lives a good three leagues hence. He is- alas, I cannot think of his name!  
  
SUSAN: Henry?  
  
NELL: Nay, I say he is a gentleman.  
  
SUSAN: Edward?  
  
NELL: Nay, I say he is a lord. Nay, his name would be Placentio. Ay, that is a right and good name for such a lord she would love. Lord Placentio of Mantua.  
  
SUSAN: A lord of Mantua? She'd love not him. Tis not erotic.  
  
NELL: Exotic.  
  
SUSAN: Nay, nor that neither.  
  
NELL: But Placentio, this man, see, he writes her fevered letters, protesting his love!  
  
SUSAN: He doth protest too much. A simple, " Ay, to bed with thee," is all our Lady Roz would need to hear, an' ay, she would be head over heels on her back.  
  
NELL: Nay, nay Sue, this is not a man, this Placentio, to be so bold. He does not wish to bed her, but to marry her and make her a good woman!  
  
SUSAN: Then 'tis impossible and he should be forsaken.  
  
NELL: Nay, I think not.  
  
SUSAN: I think so. Such a man could not exist.  
  
NELL: Exist? Marry, Sue, none said he should exist!  
  
SUSAN: No? Then what does he?  
  
NELL: Merely writes letters to her, wins her heart and brings her to madness!  
  
SUSAN: If he does not exist, how is it he writes letters?  
  
NELL: It is not that he writes the letters, but that we should write the letters in his name. Do you know how to write?  
  
SUSAN: Nay, not I.  
  
NELL: I know my letters. A, B, and C, and R is for Rosaline. See, I take this page and mark it with an R.  
  
SUSAN: But, prithee, can your letters profess love?  
  
NELL: Not an' love goes along with A, B, and C.  
  
SUSAN: Then who's to write and who's to play our lady's heart?  
  
NELL: 'Twould be one who hates her so much as we, else 'twould be one who is both learned and a fool.  
  
Enter BELLARIO and HENRY PIMPERNEL.  
  
PIMPERNEL: But, as I say, me, Good Doddy Dogspotter that I am, I say 'tis never good to be planting in the spring. Because, as we all know, when is it that our food is most scarce?  
  
BELLARIO: Nay, I know not that.  
  
PIMPERNEL: In winter, of course! So why plant to harvest in autumn? I say plant in the summer and harvest in December, and nary a mouth will go hungry.  
  
SUSAN: I see the fool and wise man stand before. Good sir?  
  
PIMPERNEL: Aye?  
  
SUSAN: Nay, I speak not to you, but to the aged gentleman. Old man?  
  
BELLARIO: What is it that you would have done, my lass? Speak quick and do not fear yourself to ask.  
  
NELL: There's a matter of a letter, good sir. A lord came to us, asking us to pen a letter for him, but we did not know, it seems he wanted all twenty- odd, and in some order resembling words.  
  
SUSAN: I know not my letters but for X to mark my name, and Young Nell, she knows A, B, and C, and also R, an' that's for making words very small and few.  
  
NELL: Would your Lordship do the honor of taking down our letter? We've got both pen and paper.  
  
SUSAN: And ink, but naught for blotting.  
  
BELLARIO: My ladies, I do know my letters well. I am a man of letters, you may tell.  
  
NELL: Aye, sir, we seen you and say, "That goes there a man of letters."  
  
SUSAN: Aye, certain a man knows more than A, B, C, and R.  
  
BELLARIO: Find first a desk at which to do this task. When off my feet, I'll write all that you ask.  
  
NELL: Oh, thank you sir, a hundred times thank you!  
  
SUSAN: Our good friend the lord Placentio will be pleased an' we find a man with letters.  
  
Exuent.  
  
Enter ROSALINE.  
  
ROSALINE: What's this I find, a letter in plain view? But letters not in view, for it is sealed. If sealed, it's not been read, to whom addressed? Once delivered then the letter's be revealed. There's not a name, the letter's simply marked. With R, the letter R, and R is all. Letters R are oft for Rosaline. Could it be that I have had a suitor call? But then, supposing R is not for me? And R is for some other name with R? Nay, R for Rosaline should likely be. Letter, I'll ope and hope 'tis not too far. "Dear Rosaline, Sweet Rosaline, and Fair." Aye, that is I, Rosaline, Fair, and Sweet. I do not know a sweeter Rosaline. And fairer a one is not like to meet. But I'll go on, I should not quit so soon. "If you knew how my poor heart is afire!" I'd know, sir, only knowing your good name. "My love for you should be my funeral pyre." Nay, die not for passion's sake, I bid you, For passion I have passion- It goes on- "I long for you with scores of raw desire" But if it be aflame, then rawness gone. "If it is untrue, call me then a liar." What, lying is just that- what tis untrue! "Sweet Rose, you are a Rose without a briar." The briar stings, but Rose is sweet and new. "You are one of superb esteem and higher." Higher than superb? Ay, but that is I. "I'd walk for you through miles thick of mire." Mire on new gowns? An' I should want to cry! This piece is writ so lovely with conceit. As often I am wrought, I like to think. I wonder who its author good might be? If inclined toward loving or toward drink? 'Twould be the day! If I should find a man Whose heart belonged to me and me alone- I must find out the author of this note- Alack, I would my wedding to postpone. For though I have a skin that's thick as fair, I cannot bear to wed Lucentio. I'll see how this fair author signs what's writ. "I long for you, my love, Placentio." Placentio? Tis a name I've not heard. And I have heard the names of many lords. But unlike them, he does not ask to dance, Though many swear their love for me on swords. He asks me outright only for my heart, And that my heart should soon belong to his. Placentio, my love, 'tis quite a start, But starting to form love 'tween us, it is. But hark! I should be off to write him back! I cannot leave my love upon the rack.  
  
Exit. Enter SUSAN GRINDSTONE and NELL  
  
NELL: She took it, an' she took it true.  
  
SUSAN: She is in love!  
  
NELL: Serves her right, the wench.  
  
URSULA: (from within) Roz! What, Roz, your good Mum bids you come!  
  
SUSAN: But hush, we'll miss the next scene in this plot. Let's hide here where we'll not be seen.  
  
Enter LADY CAPULET, followed by URSULA.  
  
URSULA: She answers not.  
  
LADY: Then call to her again. There's much discussion I should want to say.  
  
URSULA: Oh Roz! What, ladybird? What, hen? Mum wishes to speak on your wedding day.  
  
Enter ROSALINE.  
  
ROSALINE: Good Nurse, Good Mother, fret not, I am here. But there is words-  
  
LADY: What words?  
  
ROSALINE: That should be said. If I should be to wed Lucentio, My wedding day, I am to wake up dead!  
  
URSULA: Nay, speak not that! We would not have it so!  
  
ROSALINE: I would I would not have it so myself. But I'm enamored of some finer man, Another match could sure do in my health.  
  
LADY: Another man?  
  
ROSALINE: Aye.  
  
LADY: Does your father know?  
  
ROSALINE: He knows not, nor did I before today. The man I love's a Lord Placentio. Until he'd found, a maiden I should stay.  
  
LADY: We'll take this matter up with your good sire. Lord! Tis time you came, Husband, come in!  
  
ROSALINE: My father won't permit this now, I know. Alas, my heart cries out, my hope runs thin!  
  
Enter LORD CAPULET.  
  
LORD: And what is this? To what's my presence called?  
  
LADY: My Lord, we are in need of your advice. It seems our Roz would wed some other man. What of her troth? As one, she can't wed twice.  
  
LORD: Another man? Who's he and what's his name?  
  
ROSALINE: Patience, Father, I'll explain in time. I know you'll see it's not a sin to love.  
  
URSULA: They're practically the same; their names do rhyme.  
  
LORD: 'Tis not a sin to love when duty calls. But 'tis your duty to love not to sin. And duty binds you fast to promises. A broken promise, met with much chagrin.  
  
ROSALINE: A promise of my hand I never made! A promise of my love, I made less still.  
  
LORD: But promise we did make for your int'rest. And 'tis your duty my bond to fulfill.  
  
ROSALINE: My interest lies not with Lucentio. A single int'rest there I've not yet found. I'll untie knots that you should tie, perforce. I'll sever bindings if to him I'm bound.  
  
LORD: You'll serve your duty as my only child! As he's the only child of my friend. You'll not go on, regret it if you do. But this charade must be brought to an end!  
  
ROSALINE: 'Tis no charade. I do not play at love. I may have once, but my cards I'll throw in. My heart is not a wager, tossed about To be had and split up by my kin.  
  
LADY: She's never spoken so.  
  
ROSALINE: This love is true!  
  
LADY: But detested Lucentio from first.  
  
ROSALINE: 'Tis not the reason for my strong appeal.  
  
LORD: Be still your tongue, or you shall have the worst.  
  
ROSALINE: As long as my heart beats, my tongue's not still! Nor any part that to my love is sworn. If you should want me to silence my speech, My tongue from out my mouth at once be torn!  
  
LORD: I've warned you, child, I'll warn you not again. You're still engaged to your Lucentio. In no less that three days you two shall wed. No more be said, presently I must go.  
  
EXUENT LORD CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and URSULA.  
  
ROSALINE: No daughter has suffered so for duty, Placentio, my love, do rescue me!  
  
EXIT.  
  
SUSAN: It's worked hundredfold better than I thought!  
  
NELL: She's now to wed and all for a nothing-lord!  
  
SUSAN: I've never seen the Master so angry nor so red as that.  
  
NELL: Nay, I neither.  
  
SUSAN: Her wedding-day will be her misery!  
  
NELL: Or her wedding-bed.  
  
SUSAN: I wager she'll have disappeared in search of her "Sweet Lord Placentio" afore nightfall on her wedding-day. Mark me.  
  
NELL: And when she she return?  
  
Exuent.  
  
Enter LUCENTIO and LUCIO.  
  
LUCENTIO: Three days! And this is worse, boy, than before! My wedding is now within three days' time. And still I wed a wench I should abhor. Still, I'm sworn to marry Rosaline.  
  
LUCIO: My Lord, I know but little remedy. Her father's ordered the festivity. I wish for you one thing- 'tis brevity. And on her part, some small passivity.  
  
LUCENTIO: But if I'm passive I'll bemoan the day! I would not wed this wench were I not bound. But my dear dead parents did promise me The very same day on which I was found.  
  
LUCIO: Found, you say? Why found, and not, sir, born? It seems an odd word to describe a child.  
  
LUCENTIO: You see, dear youth, I'm not my parents' own. My father found me, hunting in the wild. Deep in the den of the most hated wolf- He found me there, still wrapped in swaddling clothes, My infant fingers all begrimed with mud, My hair a-tangle full of thorny rose. He scooped me up and brought me home to mum, They called me hence their foundling baby boy, For they were late in age, and still had none, I was for them a single source of joy. But as I said, they aging, soon did die, And left me to be raised up all alone. I learned quite late of my loathed betrothal. I would have stopped it, had I only known. But as her parents were true friends of mine, I could not turn them down in thoughtless hate, They love me as a son, and do believe, An honest couple will we two create.  
  
LUCIO: You say you were abandoned by a wolf?  
  
LUCENTIO: Aye, my father said, that's as it seems. They often jested I was fairy-born, A changling child, an infant made of dreams.  
  
LUCIO: Forgive me, Lord, there's words that must be said. I have a revelation I must make. For you say you are not your parents' own, I must tell true, there's bonds of blood at stake. And bonds between two siblings, Lord, are strong, Much stronger far than those 'tween married pairs, For siblings have more similar than wives, They have same eyes and teeth, and even hairs. I have said long of late I have a twin, And told you much of my fraternal bond. I swear I thought not half so much of you, Until this truth of your infancy dawned. Permit the first- and this is just the first Of many things that you may deem as shocks, I'm not a lad, but am a woman born, To find my twin, I gladly sheared my locks.  
  
LUCENTIO: You are a lady?!  
  
LUCIO: Alas, not lady quite, But woman and not man I'll surely give you. My name's not Lucio, but similar. It starts with L, in truth, my name is Livia.  
  
LUCENTIO: Livia? Would this Livia be the same As that which haunts my friend Tiberio?  
  
LUCIO: Aye, Livia, and at certain passing masques, She kissed that man, but she alone did know. She kissed him, he believing she was she, But she turned out to be a hapless page, His friends laughed at his indiscretions, sure, But it seems now, the Duke is right and sage. This Livia, you say, the Duke does love, And loving him does suffer all the more. For as she is a boy, and not herself, She cannot love him as she should before.  
  
LUCENTIO: But that is well! The two of you shall meet! I shall reveal your name to my dear friend, And so the duke shall have my page as wife, And your mistake shall lead to happy end!  
  
LUCIO: But there is more, there's reason for my dress, Better than to play the burrowing louse! You see, my twin, of whom I've spoke so much, As babe was dragged by wolf straight from our house. As I'm a girl, so brother was a boy- And I believe that boy must then be you.  
  
LUCENTIO: 'Tis wondrous news. You gain a brother hence. If all goes well, I'll gain a brother too.  
  
Exuent.  
  
WILL: If they're really twins, why couldn't they see they looked like one another.  
  
WIL: They're not identical twins, silly. They're boy-and-girl twins and they needn't look alike.  
  
WILL: They haven't got any features in common?  
  
WIL: So what if they have? Verona is a small city. Everyone looks alike there.  
  
WILL: I keep forgetting they're Italian. Well, I don't think any of this story is to be believed. Isn't the audience going to wonder it's not realistic at all?  
  
WIL: Oh, at the plays the audience is so interested in deciding whether what's happening on stage could happen in real life. That's why there are demons romping about and angels of salvation and murderous husbands and treacherous wives and everything I see daily in your mother's kitchen. Nobody's going to care a stinking hoot whether it could go on in real life, as long as it's clever. And they had their fair warning. Lucio said she was really Livia and that she was looking for her twin. Any audience member with half a mind and a good ear would have picked up immediately and started weighing the candidates, isn't that right?  
  
WILL: I didn't.  
  
WIL: Oh, but you're just a little boy.  
  
WILL: If you get to be a lady, I am most certainly not a little boy.  
  
WIL: Oh, really, what are you supposed to be now then?  
  
WILL: I am the master of the revels! The grand-playwright-extraordinaire! I am the puppet-master, pulling on the strings of the player's lives. They say and do whatever I write with my all-powerful pen! I say, he dies, he dies, I say he weds, he weds, I say he loses all his fortune and his beloved daughter, so he does and the player has naught to say about it.  
  
WIL: No pretense here, I see? So, then, master playwright, what happens next? How do your lowly players extricate themselves from this knot? Will the lovers find their happiness? And, of course, will it be realistic? Such realism there is when characters rhyme every other line of dialogue.  
  
WILL: All part of the art, dear Cousin.  
  
Enter TIBERIO.  
  
TIBERIO: What spite! What baldfaced treachery lies here! Between two brothers who swear not to lie. Not space enough in our fraternal bed- If he has want of rest, he dare not try! Lucentio, who always was my friend, Has stolen the jewel of my very heart! Our sheets from childhood he should want to rend- Our downy pillows rashly torn apart! To Livia in his presence I have sworn My everything, indeed my very soul- But now, as the true knave that he was born, He's wagered he should take away my whole. My Livia, whom I've loved now for so long- I hear she's now put up in his vile house! Through what excuse, I never did him wrong, Should he take what, by rights, I should espouse? Is't jealousy that I should love so true When he is forced to marry Rosaline? But, still, such villainy I never knew! He has a wife- and so he should take mine! Oh Livia! My love and dearest jewel! I know his suit would not be your true choice- He's called the tune and played me like a fool- But in this song I do not hear your voice. I'll go this minute- let there be no haste- For if I tarry, fate should be too cruel- Lucentio, shall now be laid to waste- My once-friend now should face me in a duel!  
  
Exit. Enter TIBERIO.  
  
I am still angered by his sharp betrayal. Decisions made so rash rarely end well. Often what merely is gossip's portrayal Turns out something complex and strange to tell. I'll not forgive him easy, take my word, Perhaps I should abandon him forever- But for his talent, dueling is absurd- I think I have a plan that's far more clever. I've learned a lesson from my fateful masque- Disguise can fool even the surest mind. I'll dress myself a maid to do this task A costume sure their eyes will faultless find. As woman I will listen to his plan Discover if his intentions are pure And if they're not, then by my sword, as man I'll strike him ill; my blade will find the cure. Exit.  
  
Enter Rosaline.  
  
ROSALINE: I'll write a letter back unto my love And tell him of my godforsaken plight I'll tell him straightaway that he should come And steal me from this place tomorrow night. He'll do it, for I know his love is true; He speaks of it in darling rhyme and such. And as I'd help my dear if he were hurt, I hope that he should help me quite as much. "My Dear Placentio, alas, My Love, I am to wed a very ugly man. His eyes are dark, his features are quite plain. I am forlorn, do help me if you can. Come to my balcony tomorrow night. If you are there, then I will wait above. I will jump down; I hope that you are strong So you can catch me then, my one true love. I only have three days, it is short time And so, my love, indeed, you should make haste. But if you come too late, don't miss the feast. I'll see they feed you if you'd like a taste." This is a better letter than his own. I think tis straight and to the point and clear. I hope it won't intimidate him, though. I hope that he will hold it close and dear. I must go on, it is not long enough. I must profess undying love some more. Because if it is only simple facts Placentio might think I am a bore. "Oh my love, Placentio, I love you." That is good; it even says love twice. "I love you so much and I wish to marry." Yes, the part on marriage is so nice. "Love, forever yours, love, Rosaline." It's signed now, and I'll put it on the ground. Tis an odd place that such a note should be, But that is where his note to me was found. I'll come back presently for his response, But now I'll run and will not say a word. No one must know where letters are exchanged. But hush! Perhaps someone's already heard.  
  
Exit.  
  
Enter SUSAN GRINDSTONE, NELL, HENRY PIMPERNEL, JOHN NAPS, and PETER TURF.  
  
SUSAN: Hah! She's left the letter, as she said. A better note than his! I'd sweat not by that. I did hear every word, 'twas trite and unpoetic.  
  
NELL: But hearing those sighs, her sighs, was poetry.  
  
SUSAN: Oh, aye, 'twas laughable poor poetry. My eyes are wet, her poetry was so poor.  
  
NELL: How poetry makes a body cry. It must be written either with the best pen or by those who ought be struck dumb.  
  
NAPS: Or those been struck already. Let me see that letter.  
  
SUSAN: Aye, sure.  
  
NAPS: "I am to wed a very ugly man."  
  
TURF: What, then why'd I think she was to wed the lord Lucentio and not our Harry? What, Harry, you've got the lady after all, I hear.  
  
PIMPERNEL: Nay! Not I, see how it says "ugly."  
  
NAPS: And 'twas you what passed for a cripple.  
  
PIMPERNEL: To a blind man.  
  
TURF: Jesu Maria!  
  
NAPS: Problem is, Sue my love, how's we supposed to wait and catch her under her balcony and her not know 'tis us. There's five of us and one of him, and she knows our faces rightly.  
  
SUSAN: And some of us is a woman. She'll know that's wrong.  
  
NELL: Ah, we'll have to respond. John Naps, you've got letters, have you?  
  
NAPS: Aye, a few, and not all the same.  
  
NELL: Respond posthaste to our lady's complaint. Tell her Placentio shall not be able to meet with her tonight, but the fair knight he is, he'll be in time to rescue her from vile fate.  
  
NAPS: That I'll do.  
  
TURF: And I've a trinket that will seal the plot!  
  
NELL: Aye, that's the trick!  
  
PIMPERNEL: What have you got?  
  
TURF: My niece, that is-  
  
NAPS: You've more nieces than any man I know who's got neither brother nor sister.  
  
TURF: My niece Joan, the lusty little blonde wench, tapmistress at the sign of the Fox, she was a'cleanin' up a few nights since, and what did she find but a garish bit of a thing-  
  
SUSAN: 'Tis a ring!  
  
NELL: But what's that for us?  
  
TURF: This ring, aye, 'tis heavy and mayhap worth its weight in gold- being a gold ring. But what's it got on it, makes it no use to Joanie, and not a speck more to me, 's got the letter P writ all about in curly letters.  
  
NELL: I see it, I see it there, that's P. A right match for R, with the leg cut off!  
  
TURF: Aye, that's it. And what we do, is, we give the ring to the lady.  
  
NELL: Lay it upon her letter. She'll think 'tis a gift from her secret love! Oh, 'tis far worse than I could do! Let's away before she comes again.  
  
Exuent.  
  
Enter LUCENTIO and LIVIA.  
  
LUCENTIO: 'Tis now two days till the appointed time. Still my melancholy will not subside.  
  
LIVIA: 'Tis possible you could feign illness yet. Avoid the matter; I'll get thee a bride.  
  
Enter HENRY PIMPERNEL.  
  
PIMPERNEL: My Lord, there is a lady come to call. She does not look a bit thy future wife.  
  
LUCENTIO: But Livia, my twin, this work is fast.  
  
LIVIA: 'Tis not my doing brother, on my life!  
  
LUCENTIO: I bid thee Harry, good, go send her in.  
  
EXIT HENRY PIMPERNEL.  
  
LUCENTIO: You swear you do not know who this might be? It smells, dear sister, of your meddling hand.  
  
LIVIA: 'Tis not my work, may Zeus himself smite me.  
  
Enter TIBERIO, disguised as HELENA.  
  
LUCENTIO: (to LIVIA) I do not know this face. 'Tis not my kin.  
  
LIVIA: (to LUCENTIO) You did not know my own till introduced.  
  
TIBERIO: I am your cousin come to see you wed.  
  
LUCENTIO: Ah, yes, that is just what we had deduced. Livia, dear, this is my cousin good. She has come far- from-  
  
TIBERIO: Venice.  
  
LUCENTIO: or from Rome. Her name is one I'm like not to forget.  
  
TIBERIO: Helen.  
  
LUCENTIO: Helena, welcome to our home. How was your voyage? Was it not too long? And what news brings my Uncle-  
  
TIBERIO: Valentine.  
  
LUCENTIO: Yes, Valentine's my uncle's name, I know.  
  
TIBERIO: He's in good health; the weather there is fine.  
  
LUCENTIO: Ah, that is good. 'Tis good to have the sun. Speak of the sun, I'll introduce my guest. Helen, my cousin, here is Livia, It's good that two should meet who know me best. And you are not wed? 'Tis many a year-  
  
TIBERIO: Ah, no, though for a time I loved a fool. He thought that love was only meant for two- And oddly thought that I should keep that rule.  
  
LIVIA: That rule, 'tis good, I see no reason not To keep it in good practice all your days.  
  
LUCENTIO: There are those for whom love is simply art, Who cannot mend from their less saintly ways.  
  
LIVIA: That thought's amiss; I know what plagues your heart.  
  
TIBERIO: Lucentio loves else than Rosaline?  
  
LIVIA: There's times I watch him gaze and swear he does. Alas, he'd still pronounce all women swine.  
  
LUCENTIO: Not all, dear Livia, you would pass my mark.  
  
TIBERIO: (aside) He speaks the words I least should long to hear.  
  
LIVIA: But silly boy, I'm far from out your reach.  
  
TIBERIO: (aside) Yes, Livia, yes, love, assuage my fear. (to all) But cousin, this is not what I would hope For you , so soon to wed to be so sad.  
  
LUCENTIO: Less unhappy that I've been recently With Livia by, I can't help but be glad. She's lovely and her wit is unsurpassed.  
  
LIVIA: Good Lord, 'tis not so well; indeed you flatter.  
  
Enter HENRY PIMPERNEL.  
  
PIMPERNEL: I know not what to do but interrupt.  
  
LUCENTIO: Pray, good Harry, what could be the matter?  
  
PIMPERNEL: The messenger, who's been long at the Duke's tells me what he was wont to overhear. This morning, long before the break of day, Your friend Tiberio did disappear.  
  
LUCENTIO: Been gone this morning since, and with no word? I had wished that I could to him impart A piece of what I should call urgent news.  
  
LIVIA: Not urgent, but might set him to a start.  
  
TIBERIO: You say the Duke is not at home and that There's something that you think you ought to tell?  
  
LIVIA: Aye, there is.  
  
TIBERIO: And what news might this be? I'd find him shortly, for I know him well.  
  
LIVIA: You know the Duke? From Venice? That is far.  
  
TIBERIO: Between the Duke and I, 'tis always near.  
  
LIVIA: I like not that. Helen, what do you mean? If you speak love I will not shed a tear. I am long in love with Tiberio. And I thought, foolishly, my love returned. My state prevented me from saying so, If love is lost, no harm, my lesson's learned.  
  
TIBERIO: You say you love the Duke, and not your lord?  
  
LIVIA: Meaning Lucentio? That is to laugh. I love him for he is my brother dear. He's half my whole, but not my better half.  
  
TIBERIO: My apologies. I did not know.  
  
LIVIA: How could you, as you've come so very far?  
  
TIBERIO: As far as your love, I'll not interfere. This trick is through, now knowing who you are.  
  
LIVIA: A trick? What trick?  
  
TIBERIO: Much like a trick once played Upon the Duke himself, to his dismay. He kissed a girl he loved who was a boy.  
  
LIVIA: That girl was not. 'Twas I he kissed that day. And how know you the story of that jest?  
  
TIBERIO: 'Twas I who kissed. Sweet Livia, you lie.  
  
LIVIA: Tiberio! What, love, you lie as well! Lucentio's page was no less man than I. You make a lovely lass though honest not. A clever trick you've played, but 'tis not new.  
  
TIBERIO: It worked too well on one who's played herself. I learned this trick, my love, by watching you. I've sighed to speak your name.  
  
LIVIA: Sweet, sigh no more.  
  
TIBERIO: I'll say it: Livia, Livia my dear!  
  
LIVIA: Say it again.  
  
TIBERIO: Livia.  
  
LIVIA: But I'll not sigh. You've sighed to speak, but I've sighed just to hear.  
  
LUCENTIO: 'Tis pleasing to see good friends gladdened so. I almost forget my own sorry state.  
  
LIVIA: I'll swear again to see you happy wed.  
  
LUCENTIO: I ask but a small favor, not so great.  
  
TIBERIO: Speak, friend, and our love will grant it you.  
  
LUCENTIO: As my own marriage shows no sign of letting, Shall my friend wed my sister at my side? It's sure to add some cheer to such a wedding.  
  
LIVIA: My brother, I'd be honored, if my Lord Permits, and I stand not near Rosaline.  
  
LUCENTIO: That duty is my own.  
  
TIBERIO: Dear wretched groom! We'll wed that day, as sure the sun will shine.  
  
Exuent.  
  
Enter HENRY PIMPERNEL., PETER TURF, JOHN NAPS, SUSAN GRINDSTONE, and NELL.  
  
NELL: I say good riddance!  
  
SUSAN: We're not rid of her yet, and she'll make our life today a hell, mark me. 'Tis her last day in her father's house.  
  
TURF: The Good Duke's been naught but pleased since two days past. He talks in his sleep, even waking. He's been tossing the chinks at us.  
  
NAPS: Aye, I've a bump on me noggin from them chinks. I never thought to say I'd fear the sight of them gold pieces.  
  
Enter BELLARIO  
  
TURF: What ho! Good friend Bellario.  
  
NAPS: Well met!  
  
BELLARIO: I come again so soon at that to see A wedding which I thought should not be seen. The groom is nervous as a mother hen, The bride ornery as wasps and twice as mean. But the duke my nephew's in good cheer. He keeps company with demeanor bright. Good Doddy Dogsplitter, Good Doddy friend, I hope that he now treats you only right.  
  
PIMPERNEL: Right, Right, old boy, he treats me too well. Doddy Dogsputter, that that I am, my lord's only taken two of me pretties this week. I'll sure walk till doomsday now.  
  
BELLARIO: Ah that's well for you, Dogspinner sir. And now to greet the many guests I'll go. There's all the family of Capulet, Lord Valentine and young Placentio.  
  
NELL: What's that name you say? What? Placentio?  
  
BELLARIO: Placentio, I said, a handsome lad. Full of youth and wealth but not much brains. His father is now dead these three years past. His only son is well-off for his pains.  
  
Enter PLACENTIO.  
  
BELLARIO: And here's the boy now. Good eve, my lad.  
  
PLACENTIO: Good morning, good Sir, for it is not night.  
  
BELLARIO: Ah, that is the sun and not the moon. Good morrow, boy, Good morrow, you are right.  
  
Exit BELLARIO.  
  
NELL: Prithee, young lord, tell us your name again. The old man, hard of hearing, is hard to hear.  
  
PLACENTIO: My name's Placentio of Mantua. I am a distant cousin, in a way Of your lord Duke Tiberio, and so I came to see him wed this very day.  
  
SUSAN: Fortune would not have given thee a better name! Say, lord Placentio, know you the lady Rosaline.  
  
PLACENTIO: Only by sight, But I say that's enough For that sweet lass is a most goodly sight. Almost as handsome as myself, I'd warrant, Though her teeth are not but half so white.  
  
NAPS: He speaks his part too well!  
  
NELL: Aye, the man she marries is not near so sweet to look on as yourself, most noble lord. And indeed I hear she loves another.  
  
PLACENTIO: 'Tis all the way with weddings 'mongst our kind. The maiden is but bait for father's game. To trap a wealthy lad, but not to love. Pray tell, what is your lady's lover's name.  
  
SUSAN: I dare not say. It is sure not my place.  
  
PLACENTIO: But tell!  
  
NELL: Alas,the answer must be no.  
  
PLACENTIO: I give my word I shall not say his name.  
  
SUSAN: But 'tis yourself, good sir, Placentio!  
  
PLACENTIO: Nay, it is not I! it cannot be. Though I am loved by all, both far and wide. But as she is the only woman yet so near my match, she might yet make my bride.  
  
NELL: But alas, Lord, she weds today, the young Lucentio.  
  
PLACENTIO: I'll fight him to the death if it must be! No other man will take my Rosaline!  
  
NELL: (aside) alack, it is too late to make that vow.  
  
PLACENTIO: 'Tis I she loves, and so she shall be mine!  
  
SUSAN: To be sure, we'll have a most unhappy bride!  
  
NELL: 'Tis not so wrong.  
  
ENTER TIBERIO, LIVIA, LUCENTIO, ROSALINE, LORD CAPULET, and LADY CAPULET.  
  
TIBERIO: The Bishop's absent; he is overdue.  
  
ROSALINE: (to LORD CAPULET) You'll see, my love shall rescue me in time. He swore to me with this, his family ring.  
  
LIVIA: (to LUCENTIO) Alack, poor twin, it seems your bride's not thine.  
  
LUCENTIO: If I could find the man who'd have her hand, I'd gladly have her taken far away. I'd rather he show shortly, for he must arrive before it's made my wedding-day.  
  
PLACENTIO: I am the man who loves this maiden fair, How came upon that ring, I do not know. For I thought I had lost it in the inn. Though I am glad my loss had gained her so.  
  
NELL: It does seem my plot has gotten the better of itself. I ne'er imagined 'twould be a real Placentio and a real ring, and for that ring to be his! Nay, 'tis too peculiar!  
  
LIVIA: (to NELL) 'Twas your plot that brought this predicament? 'Tis clever, sure, you are a true death's, Nell. I've got another plot you may persue A plot I think would fit your person well.  
  
LUCENTIO: You love the wench? Then have her, I'll permit. I'd not wed one who would love another.  
  
EXIT NELL and LIVIA.  
  
ROSALINE: Truly?  
  
LUCENTIO: Aye, sure.  
  
LORD CAPULET: She'll not without my leave! You'd dare to disobey me or your mother?  
  
Enter FRIAR PATRICK  
  
PLACENTIO: You'd dare, Lord, to disobey our true love? I love your daughter more than any man. You cannot deny our infinite bond.  
  
LORD CAPULET: By all means, knave, I think her father can.  
  
FRIAR PATRICK: Prithee tell, who is to marry who?  
  
TIBERIO: Good Friar, shall the bishop soon arrive?  
  
FRIAR PATRICK: The Bishop died this morning in his sleep. But I'll say mass as if her were alive.  
  
LORD CAPULET: My daughter is to marry this good lord. ROSALINE: But Friar good, you see, I love him not! Placentio is sure the man I love. I'll marry him or in a fresh grave rot!  
  
FRIAR PATRICK: Hush, maid, there's not need for you to swear. Your father's choice shall see you hap'ly wed.  
  
PLACENTIO: I swear I'll kill all who stand in my way!  
  
Enter LIVIA.  
  
ROSALINE: I'll marry him, or else I'll die instead!  
  
LIVIA: Am I the only soul who wants to wed?  
  
TIBERIO: Nay, love, methinks you make the sweetest wife.  
  
LIVIA: As I think you a grand husband shall be.  
  
PLACENTIO: She'll marry not! I'll guard her with my life.  
  
LIVIA: Lucentio, there is a woman here who says your marriage here must not take place. Come speak your piece good woman, and we'll list.  
  
ENTER NELL, disguised as CORNELIA THE MIDWIFE  
  
LORD CAPULET: What plot is this?  
  
LUCENTIO: Sir, let her speak, in grace.  
  
NELL: This wedding is not a holy bond! Pray listen to my tale. An' I was a young thing, 'prenticed to a good midwife who had charge of many a mother and her babe. And as thou knowst, your lord Lucentio, a good young lord he is, he was not born of his own mother's womb. Nay, not he. He was carried from his own humble house, a helpless babe, and dropped in the arms of a righteous lady. And this poor, sweet lost babe had a twin, a sister by the name Livia.  
  
LIVIA: That is I.  
  
NELL: Nay, 'tis not.  
  
LIVIA: No?  
  
NELL: Nay, for that same midwife who brought these two babes into the world, for their mother's sake, ah their poor mother, she wished her children might survive and live better than they might in her own house. And so, in the dead o' the night, the midwife stole into the house of a nearby lord and gave them a changeling for their own high-born babe. The name, the name of such house, was Capulet.  
  
ROSALINE: So I am not my father's only child?  
  
LUCENTIO: And my wife is to be my sister, too?  
  
PLACENTIO: Nay, for now I'll have my Rosaline.  
  
LORD CAPULET: Even I do see this will not do.  
  
TIBERIO: Oh happy met! None will wed in sorrow. (to LUCENTIO) But, friend, it seems you shall not wed at all.  
  
PLACENTIO: Alas, tis not at all what I had wished. I had been hoping for a mighty brawl.  
  
LUCENTIO: I shall be happier a bachelor still. I'll wed when fin'ly I find wife to suit. Come, friend, it's time you wed my sister dear. And Rosaline, you wed your manly brute.  
  
Exuent.  
  
Enter TIBERIO, LIVIA, and LUCENTIO.  
  
LUCENTIO: Livia, you'll still play my sister's role Though it seems were are not true twins by blood. Thank god you found that woman when you did, And brides now have been wed to whom they should.  
  
LIVIA: Nay, tis not true, I'm still your long-lost twin. A maid I know concocted clever plot. Dear brother, after all the things you've seen, Should know that things might seem what they are not.  
  
LUCENTIO: Dear sister, you did make a clever lad!  
  
LIVIA: You swore once you would marry one so clever. But thought you spoke then to a little boy. Imagined me your sister?  
  
LUCENTIO: Sister, never!  
  
LIVIA: And as I loved you then, so love you now And could not see you wed that wanton thing. More clever still was plotting even worse, 'Tis how Rosaline came upon that ring. Placentio did not know Rosaline. He was struck down with love upon the spot. She loved him for letters he did not write. They married for a midwife who was not. I told you once that I should find a lass As clever as myself and maybe more With mind quite full and fancy wit to pass To wed you in place of dimwitted whore. And as I swore my oath as page to lord You'll see now that I kept my promise quite.  
  
LUCENTIO:You say you've found a maid whom I should wed? I am impatient, tell if I am right. And if she be, then tell me where she is And how then I should court this clever lass.  
  
LIVIA: You'll not need courtier's charms, I do not think. She's as you say, a maid, and bold as brass. I'll call her in. Cornelia, Nellie, come! Your master asks your presence in this hall.  
  
TIBERIO: From here she'll hear you? Nay, I think not so.  
  
ENTER NELL disguised as CORNELIA THE MIDWIFE.  
  
LUCENTIO: An entrace most miraculous of all! I take it these are not the clothes you wear?  
  
NELL: (revealing herself as NELL) Nay, Lord, you see, these are my humble clothes. Beg pardon if you think I am unfit. I was a servant to the haughty Rose.  
  
LIVIA: And as a servant, she did there contrive To make that Ros in love beyond all hope.  
  
NELL: It seems it worked far better than I planned. She even asked me if we should elope.  
  
LUCENTIO: A clever girl, exactly as I wish'd. Livia, you've done more than your part. Dear Nell, 'Twould please me greatly if you'd wed Me, for you wit does want to steal my heart.  
  
WILL: So now my dearest friend is brother dear And dearest page is still my sister sweet. And maid shall now be wife if she permits. This end's extremely tidy and quite neat. 


End file.
